Musings of Shinigami
by Friezaess
Summary: Duo reflects on the negative aspects of his life. Deals with suicide.


**Musings of Shinigami**

Author's note: **This is told from Duo's point of view.** My first POV fic ^_^! It's pretty dark and deals with suicide, so if any of this stuff gets to you, I suggest you go find another fic. 

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own em.

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Funny, isn't it? The way life twists and jerks you around the way you can laugh after sending your opponent to his death the way you can become completely absorbed in darkness. Darkness it's like a blanket that enshrouds your entire being, refusing to let any light penetrate. It desensitises you to everything but a feeling of depression. 

When Solo died, the darkness started to grow within me. It was nurtured after the Maxwell Massacre, and during my training as a soldier. But it wasn't until I got onto the battlefield that it began to consume me. 

There's nothing like the thrill of battle. I feel an incredible rush as I cut each opponent's life-thread with my scythe. So much so that I can laugh at it, not because it's funny, but because it's a release of the vicious, violent feelings inside me. I won't lie it feels good. 

But then, when the battle has been won and the adrenalin has worn off, I look down at my bloodstained hands and wonder- how many people did I kill today? People just like me, who had been trained to fight and were following orders? 

I could have saved Solo, along with Sister Helen and Father Maxwell. If I could have gotten the vaccination to him just a little earlier if I could have reached the church with the Mobile Doll just a little sooner but because of my slackness, they died.

A classic case of could've, should've, would've I guess. I am Shinigami, God of Death. It is my duty to kill. But no more.

As I sit in my quarters, razor blade in hand, a smile grows on my face. If by some fluke all the killing hasn't gotten me into Hell, this probably will. I cut my forearm first- just to get a taste of it. For a moment, there is nothing then blood seeps out of the wound and trickles down my arm. It feels good as if I'm getting revenge on myself, I guess. Call it sadistic, but hey, right now I don't give a damn.

I continue to cut myself, steering clear of the arteries, to make the feeling last a bit longer. The rest of them never could understand that there's such a dark side to me. Wufei, Heero, Quatre and Trowa always think of me as the light-hearted, happy-go-lucky joker who's good with a gun. It's almost like I have a split personality. That's how I started out- a happy kid, despite living on the streets and being an orphan. But times change and so do personalities. They know nothing of the darkness that consumed me. Heh, I guess they'll find out when they come looking for me in the morning.

Well, enough beating around the bush. I'm getting out of here, now. I press the razor into the veins in my left wrist, dragging it through my skin. This time, there is no pause between when I make the cut and when the blood reaches the surface. It flows a lot more rapidly too. The blade has become slippery, and a faulter as I attempt to cut my other wrist. I manage, though. More of the warm, crimson liquid flowing onto my arms, onto the sheets of the bed I'm sitting on. 

I lie back onto my pillow, arms by my side, and stare up at the ceiling. Not long to go now- maybe an hour or so, tops. A thought occurs to me- I'm gonna miss my fellow pilots. They've been like brothers to me. I don't suppose I could call them friends. We're just a group of soldiers on the same mission. But all the same, a bond has formed between us all. I probably should've written some deep and meaningful crap like that in a death note or something. Oh well.

Even though I'm lying down, I feel dizzy. My vision is starting to get a little hazy, too. I wonder what death will be like? Maybe the hundreds of people I've annihilated would be able to tell me. 

Just out of curiosity, I glance at the clock hanging on the wall. It's been almost forty minutes, but it feels more like four. I've completely lost track of time. It's becoming harder to think, and I'm becoming drowsy. I don't bother trying to fight sleep, and as I close my eyes, I start to feel a peaceful sensation overwhelming me. I see a blurred vision a hallucination due to lack of blood, no doubt. But as it becomes clearer, I can make out a familiar image. Solo? It really is him! Except instead of the tattered street clothes I was used to seeing him in, he was wearing a white gown. And wings. Behind him, I can see the loving faces of Sister Helen and Father Maxwell, dressed in similar attire. This isn't Hell. 

As I follow them into the warm, inviting light, I am at peace for the first time since I can remember.

**FIN**

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